


The Greatest Gift of All

by DinoDina



Category: Torchwood
Genre: 5+1 Things, Aliens, Birthday, Developing Relationship, Emotional Intimacy, Established Relationship, Exit Wounds Compliant, Ficlet Collection, Friendship, Ianto's Birthday, M/M, Series 03 Fix-It: Children of Earth (Torchwood), birthday gifts, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-19
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:00:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25996393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DinoDina/pseuds/DinoDina
Summary: Five birthdays Ianto had that were... pretty par for the course, at least by Torchwood standards. And one that was special.
Relationships: Gwen Cooper & Jack Harkness & Ianto Jones, Ianto Jones & Myfanwy, Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones, Owen Harper & Ianto Jones
Comments: 15
Kudos: 45





	1. Chapter 1

Birthdays, for Ianto, had always been an understated affair. Ever since a disastrous party when he'd been [age], he'd tried to stay away from the festivities, and had even chosen not to disclose the date to his university acquaintances on the off-chance that they would plan something.

Then, when he'd been together with Lisa, she's shaken her head at him and laughed at his reluctance to celebrate. She'd understood, however, and the first time they celebrated his birthday, they'd gone for coffee and then taken a short walk in the park. It was bright and warm—not too warm, it being August—and the only gift she'd given him had been a kiss.

"Not very creative, I know," she'd said with a laugh, but Ianto had been too elated to agree.

The second birthday they'd spent together, she'd given him a small box wrapped in colorful paper.

"Star Wars," she'd said, pointing to the spaceships and not knowing that the manufacturer had gotten the colors all wrong.

Ianto had thanked her and pedantically taken off the tape, then the wrapping, then folded it all together—and had gotten not a birthday kiss, this time, but a birthday slap on the shoulder for dawdling.

It was a fountain pen, nestled velvet in a wooden box. Now, it sat on top of his dresser, and Ianto looked at it sometimes and remembered simpler times—not better times, for he had finally learned to smile again—different times. Lisa's smile. The small dinners they shared when they both managed to get off work early enough to do so.

It was nothing like what he had with Jack because he still didn't know what exactly it was. It wasn't a relationship, not really, not yet and perhaps not ever, but...

There was _something_ about the way that Jack came up behind him, thinking himself so sneaky and suave, and wrapped his arms around Ianto, and kissed his neck, and didn't ask about the melancholy gaze Ianto was directing at the fountain pen he'd never even used.

"It's been a long day." Jack grabbed Ianto's wrist and drew him toward the bed. "Let's sleep in tomorrow. You don't have to worry about being late."

"Because I'm sleeping with the boss?"

"You don't have to be so crass about it."

A laugh burst out of Ianto at Jack's matter-of-fact tone and pout, which had no business existing together. But that was just Jack—he was larger than life and at times completely detached from it all, existing as an impossible man and giving his time and attention to Ianto.

"Crass or not, you don't hear me complaining."

Jack hummed against him, a sign Ianto took to mean that he was forgiven, and Ianto lost himself to the sensation when Jack finally succeeded in getting them down onto the bed, tiredness disappearing. He came back to reality when Jack kissed his cheek and whispered "Happy Birthday"—only for a moment, before Jack fiddled with his wriststrap and the lights turned off, and Jack drew him towards sleep with another soft kiss.


	2. Chapter 2

"Happy birthday, Ianto," Owen said with a sigh, then slapped Ianto's shoulder—it would have been a nice gesture if his hand hadn't been covered in mud, if that mud wasn't now seeping through Ianto's shirt, if the slap hadn't been more of a shove that had sent Ianto flying forward into the mud.

So much mud. That was the countryside. That was... the last time Ianto went out into the countryside. Cannibals, he could handle—mostly, and trauma faded over time; and Pat hadn't been too bad, no matter that she was a hallucination-inducing alien badger in her true form, and the sprained ankle Ianto had gotten from that trip was outweighed by a newfound understanding with Owen.

This, though—disgusting. So much mud. Ianto was happy he'd worn old jeans and sturdy boots to search for the newest Rift gift and it wasn't _too_ bad to spend the day out with Owen, though Jack laughing in their ears through their headpieces when they made a particularly disgusted sound was annoying to say the least.

"I hate this," Ianto grumbled as he struggled up. He moved to wipe his hands on his jeans, but the similarly mud-caked state of the jeans stopped him.

"You could have played the birthday card," Jack sung into his ear, "and gotten out of this one."

"I would have murdered you."

Ianto sighed. "Thanks, Owen."

Owen plastered a smile onto his face and sent Ianto a thumbs-up.

Mud or no mud, Ianto could always count on Owen to be himself—even if that consisted of murder threats. Murdered on his birthday for refusing to go out into the countryside to chase broken alien tech… _actually_ , not that bad of an end. Creative, if nothing else.

"Be happy I'm out here instead of you," he said to Jack, then. "Your coat would have been lost for good."

"Ooh, gross." Ianto could see the face Jack was making, his nose scrunched up and his lips pulled slightly back to reveal perfect teeth. "How mud-covered _are_ you?"

"Very."

"Hmm, that's not so bad."

"Jack!"

"Owen, I'm sure you look great, too." It was truly a miracle how Jack's leer came through the comms. "Ianto, I can't wait for—"

"Don't be romantic right now, I don't think I can stand it." Ianto watched, almost in slow motion, as Owen bent down to pick up some mud. "I _will_ throw this. _Or_ you could stop flirting, we could get back to it, find the stupid thing, and get you back to Cardiff in time for whatever… birthday sex orgy party… romantic dinner thing Jack has planned."

"I have to go." Ianto fought back a sigh. He was doing that a lot today, but that was probably just Owen's influence. "We'll be back in a few hours."

"What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

"Paperwork."

"I'll do something even better."

"Wait, Jack, what—" There was the familiar click of Jack turning off his comm unit—dangerous in most situations, but he hadn't actually been guiding them so much as wasting time by pretending to be boss—and this time Ianto really did sigh. "Let's keep going."

"That's the spirit!"

Ianto didn't think Owen could sound more annoyed if he tried. Then again, no... no, Owen could definitely sound worse. Perhaps that was _his_ gift to Ianto on this special, _special_ day: only mild bullshit. What the hell—he'd take it.


	3. Chapter 3

When Ianto first left Cardiff, he did so with very little to his name. A moody and sullen teenager—with plenty of reasons to be that way—he'd ended up in a shitty flat with a shitty job. Until Torchwood came along. He stayed in that shitty flat for a while afterwards, until Yvonne set him straight, and his job could no longer be described as shitty—it was dangerous, now, and exciting, and everything he had ever wanted.

But deep in the bowels of the single suitcase his mum had given him was a tin lunchbox. It had a photo of James Bond on the front—Connery, naturally—and a dent on the left side. Ianto never used it for food, but Lisa had gotten a good laugh out of it when she'd first seen it.

The lunchbox, when Ianto returned to Cardiff, rode back in a box with the rest of his knickknacks, nestled up near the Star Wars duvet he hadn't used in ages and some Star Trek posters he'd only just put up again after Lisa had admitted to liking the series.

It didn't see the light of day until Jack had volunteered to help Ianto sort through his closet. To make room for some stuff of Jack's, but that part was only in Ianto's head. It would stay safe there until Ianto himself felt safe enough to broach the subject with Jack. For the moment, what mattered was the clutter—and getting rid of it.

Jack had already gleefully shouted out "You're a nerd!" several times.

First at the Star Wars duvet—still soft as ever, thank you very much—then at the rolled-up posters—not quite wrinkle-free, but with a certain charm for their age—then at the collection of old films—some of which he smiled knowingly at—then finally at the lunchbox.

"You know," Jack said before Ianto could open his mouth to make excuses, "I think I have one of these stashed away somewhere. I think you'd like it."

He got distracted by some antique figurines soon after, ones that didn't belong to Ianto but had inexplicably come with the flat, and soon began acting out scenes between them. Ianto laughed and forgot about the cleaning—and he knew that it had been Jack's goal to do that upon seeing the shadows in his eyes at remembering his old interests.

The Ianto that had unashamedly bought the duvet and the posters and the lunchbox had been different. Still haunted, yes, but differently, running towards something instead of running from it, and Jack... Jack got that. Memories were funny things.

The posters were directed to the nearest secondhand store, as were the figurines—once their play had finished—but the duvet and lunchbox received honorary places in the cupboard and on top of Ianto's dresser, respectively.

It was months later that Jack made good on his promise, when Ianto returned the favor and sat on the floor of his bunker, watching Jack look through old boxes. They were dusty and filled mostly with photos—discolored but clearly loved, wrinkled and worn around the edges as Jack had taken them out and reminisced over the years. A few had clothes in them—nice hats, funny ones, handkerchiefs, boxes upon boxes of cufflinks. Some were filled with mementos, nestled closely and carefully together, separated by often-replaced tissue paper, and it was on one of these that Jack stopped.

"Here," he said, breaking the silence and expecting Ianto, who had sat and listened and taken it all in, imagining the vastness of time in a way he never had before, to answer.

The metal lunchbox was closed and boasted an image on the front, similar to Ianto's; its right side was dented but not disfigured, and although there was a healthy coating of dust on top distorting the picture, giving away Jack's imperfect storing conditions, it had once clearly shone.

"I know you don't like them, but think of it as a birthday present if you don't want it just be a gift." Jack chuckled. "Or the other way around."

He leaned forward and kissed Ianto's cheek and left him with the lunchbox in his hands, then turned back to the other boxes. Ianto had almost expected Jack to forget—he didn't dislike birthdays, not really, but there was something about them that made him feel off, melancholy in a way, and Jack had picked up on it, clearly, and had thus not taken Ianto to a celebration but had invited him into his past.

Ianto would take that over a real gift—no matter that he'd gotten the lunchbox anyway—any day.


	4. Chapter 4

Ianto's birthday routine was quite set by now. He studiously ignored the date, went about his life as usual, and felt bitter only when his mind wasn't occupied with anything else. Thus, Ianto did his best to _be_ occupied—filing, paperwork, tourists, aliens... anything that could fit the bill. The past few years had successfully overridden the hatred he'd held for birthdays in his younger years but he still felt decidedly off as the day approached and tried not to draw attention to himself.

So business as usual, then.

The day got off to a normal start: Jack greeted Ianto with a kiss when they met outside a cafe to get pastries for the team together, gave him another kiss upon sending him towards the coffee machine, and a final kiss when Ianto descended to the Archives.

Whether it was a birthday thing or just Jack feeling extra romantic, Ianto wasn't sure. But he wasn't complaining.

The day continued predictably: Owen and Tosh went out into the field and returned with a broken piece of tech, Gwen began another pet project, Jack frequently checked in with Ianto via comms—mostly in an attempt to initiate phone sex, but also to verify a restaurant reservation for the next week—and Ianto himself organized yet another shelf in the Hub's endless maze of archives.

It was only when Ianto put aside the artefacts and went upstairs that things went tits-up. And not in the fun way.

 _Maybe it's the Rift's way of saying "happy birthday,"_ he thought vaguely as Jack thrust a giant gun into his hands and pushed him towards one of the backup SUVs. Because there was no way that the coordination of a Rift junk drop with a real invasion was an accident.

Soon, though, Ianto didn't have the time for such vague thoughts, fully tuned into Jack's orders, getting distracted only to take matters into his own hands when he got to the second site of the invasions' two-pronged attack. Between slapdash translation, junk pick-up, and coordination with UNIT's late-arrived and undermanned forces, Ianto hardly noticed the last dregs of the summer day drift into night.

It was the night—dark, starless, obscured by city lights and discolored by the spaceships' reflective surfaces and beacons—that the alien forces left into. It was hardly night anymore, sunrise only an hour off and the sky already tinted grey.

 _Useless_ , Ianto thought bitterly at the UNIT team as Jack ordered them all home, with firm instructions not to come in until the next Rift alert called them back. Knowing Jack, the next alert they would be called into would not be the first one the Rift would throw at them—Jack would take that one, risking himself to let them rest. Ianto resolved, even though the haze of spending too much time away, to hold on to Jack's arm when he would inevitably try to sneak out of bed to do so, to come with him if only to sit in the SUV and watch Jack do the work.

 _I know what you're thinking_ , Jack's look seemed to say when Ianto saw him several minutes later.

Ianto answered with a look of his own: _Too bad._

Jack laughed and shook his head; later, Ianto would wake upon hearing Jack's wriststrap, would silently follow Jack out to the SUV, would be herded to stay in place and follow along on one of the built-in computers, would ride to the Hub with Jack to drop off the newest Weevil, and would take a quick run into the cafe for some breakfast pastries that would stay on the kitchen table as they finished their interrupted sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

"And that right there is Venus," Jack said, pointing up.

Ianto nodded. He knew that, somewhere in the back of his head, but it had been too long since he had last stargazed. "What's that one?"

"The moon."

"No, _that_ one."

Jack laughed, clear voice ringing out across the empty field in front of their rented cottage. "Mars."

Ianto settled back further into the porch swing. "You ever been?"

"To Mars?"

"Yeah. Or… any of them. The close ones."

"No." Jack put an arm around Ianto—a clearly practiced move—as he settled as well. "Had a pit stop on the moon, once, that was… oh, somewhere in the next ten centuries. We had an Earth-based mission—not many of those, and we broke down on the way out, needed to do some quick repairs. Not that easy when you have UNIT's entire air force on your tail!"

Ianto chuckled along to the story. Jack's tales rarely took place on Earth—the ones of his past before Torchwood and endless loss—and he always mentioned planets Ianto didn't yet know the existence off, aliens that would make contact centuries from now, laws and customs that were as alien to Ianto as the solar systems they originated on.

"Humans go out to the rest of the solar system in a few centuries," Jack said. "It's not that there's nothing there, but everything's too Earth-y to be of interest to the Time Agency. Still too primitive to con, too."

"London wasn't really interested in them, either," Ianto agreed. "Suppose it's too close to home to feel like true Torchwood ambition."

"Suppose so."

They lapsed into silence, Ianto thinking of the past and the future, looking up at the stars and stuck on Earth, content and restless at the same time. He wasn't used to such days off, weekends free to take off into the countryside and rent a cottage to get away from the city for his birthday. Sitting on the porch and stargazing seemed so small and insignificant compared with what he could have been doing, which... in retrospect, wasn't all too important. The Rift was quiet for once and the only work waiting for him was filing and cleaning, and the occasional Weevil, which, for all the danger it posed, counted more as pest control than anything else.

Jack's voice broke through the silence, gentle and smooth. "Being on the Moon was really something, though. It's space—you can't forget that if you've got a ship to repair—but the Earth is _so close_. We're looking up right now, and what are they? Mars, Venus... they're just dots up there. On any moon, really, but the first time I was on the Moon, I saw Earth for the first time. It's..."

Ianto nodded as Jack trailed off. He couldn't understand, could never grasp the wistfulness Jack's voice took on—unconsciously, even—as he talked of flying and traveling, and yet saw in Jack something familiar: not a yearning for the past, not with the ghosts it held, but something more, a certain hope for previous carelessness, perhaps.

"I'll take you up there once."

Ianto laughed, because he was supposed to, because the promise was too real to take seriously. "You can't."

"Just watch." Jack didn't look at him. "I'll do it."

"Alright." Ianto rested his head against Jack's, not initiating eye contact, and basking—if not in the promise then in what it represented. "I'll take it as an I-owe-you."

"An I-owe-you. A belated gift." He felt the flexing of Jack's hand against his shoulder, then the nod of Jack's head against his. "It's a deal."


	6. Chapter 6

With Owen and Tosh gone, Ianto didn't feel much like celebrating his birthday. He's survived to live another year—usually a worthy holiday in Torchwood—but they hadn't, and it felt like betrayal. Survivor's guilt was an old friend to Ianto, and this loss was still too new and raw to move past.

"I think they'd want you to celebrate," Gwen had said softly the day before, but Ianto wasn't too sure.

They _would_ have wanted it, Owen griping that if he was alive he might as well try living and Tosh softly but firmly telling him to keep going. But he'd only just gotten comfortable to celebrating, going away with Jack the previous year for a quiet holiday, and now... They had all planned, tentatively, on celebrating together. It hadn't been a spoken plan, not _really_ , but they'd done it for Owen's birthday, for Tosh's...

Gwen's had only been a few days ago. She'd smiled valiantly through it, toasting Owen and Tosh before cuddling closer to Rhys, leaving late and drunk even though she hadn't wanted to stay out too long. She'd forgotten her gift under the table at the pub and Ianto had only grabbed it when he'd tripped over a stray piece of wrapping.

That wasn't his idea of a good time, not tonight. Before, maybe, when there was a full team to go out with—at the very least when Martha had considered coming to town—but if he went to celebrate with just Jack and Gwen, he wouldn't be able to handle the birthday blues: Ianto would cry, or worse. Whatever worse was.

He almost wanted an alien force to descend on Cardiff and send them into chaos. Then, at least, he'd have a good excuse to not focus on his life. But the last time that had happened on his birthday, Owen and Tosh had still been there, and that... was a little too close to home to think about.

"At least you won't wish me a happy birthday," he said to Myfanwy, breaking off a piece of chocolate and throwing it to her. She chewed and Ianto broke off a piece for himself. "Right?"

Myfanwy squawked and flipped a fish carcass towards him with her wing.

Ianto sighed. "Thanks."

She squawked again and waddled closer. She likely smelled the chocolate in his hand, the extra packet inside his jacket pocket, because she put her head on his knee like a peculiar lapdog and chirped a few times.

Ianto gently petted her neck.

* * *

When Ianto eventually left the aerie, because a grown man couldn't move in with his pet dinosaur to avoid reality, neither Gwen nor Jack showed any surprise, either at his leaving or at his coming back.

Ianto surreptitiously wiped at his face, knowing that Gwen noticed but made a point of ignoring it—out of deference to his birthday, most likely. Small mercies. A glance towards Jack showed him to be impossibly interested in his computer screen; Ianto hoped that Jack had never had to do serious undercover missions.

Everything looked quiet, for once, the Rift taunting them with peace instead of the usual flurry, for a change, which was normal: Ianto could always count on it acting in the least convenient way possible. Just as Ianto was about to set course for the Archives, to hide in the dark and dubious warmth of the Hub's bowels instead of its rafters, the Rift alert rang. Not all that surprising, really.

"All hands on deck!" Jack yelled quickly with far too much enthusiasm.

"We're not on a boat!" Gwen yelled back, eagerly picking up on the banter for Ianto's benefit.

"Pity!" Jack threw the two of them a leer—one was still too long, too used to being targeted at most people. "I'd make a great captain!"

"You _are_ a captain."

"That I am, Ianto!" Ianto laughed, almost despite himself, when Jack wiggled his eyebrows. "Let's go!"

They ended up, Jack driving, Ianto beside him, and Gwen muttering good-naturedly being him, in the park where Ianto had first met Jack. Ianto was familiar with it, perhaps too well. The Rift rarely dumped anything in it, so apart from chasing the occasional Weevil, Ianto only frequented it on dates. Because at heart he was a sentimental fool.

"Spread out!" Jack ordered, signaling them around the SUV and further into the trees. His voice echoed in Ianto's comm unit, doubling with the real Jack several paces away. "It's past that copse, there.

Ianto moved carefully but quickly into his directed position, expecting to see an alien taller than him, likely discolored, and definitely craving human flesh. Or at least a fight. That was just how these sorts of things went. But instead, turning the corner, gun in front of him, Gwen on the other side and Jack in the middle, when Ianto cornered the copse, he found only an old man.

He was shorter than both Ianto and Jack, grey-haired, and dressed in an unassuming but clearly alien ensemble: a long coat of a fabric that was both more matte and more shiny than anything found on Earth, sturdy boots that went halfway up his calves and did not have visible fastenings, and a familiar strap on his wrist.

A Time Agent?

But then Jack thrust his gun forward and demanded, "Who are you?"

So not a Time Agent, then.

Ianto stood and waited. The man didn't answer. He scanned their faces, moving on quickly from Jack's, resting for a moment on Gwen's, and finally resting on Ianto's with an intensity that had Ianto fighting the urge to squirm.

"That was a wonderful cup of coffee, young man," he said as if they'd been mid-conversation.

Ianto swallowed. "Thank you."

Instinct commanded him to stay on guard—and he did—but ingrained politeness mechanically answered as Ianto racked his brain, trying to place the man: he couldn't.

The man reached into his jacket—Ianto had only the thought to yell out a warning, seeing Jack and Gwen open their mouths to similarly do the same—and removed his hand just as quickly, unfisting it before Ianto could even blink and reveal a small black oval.

"Artificial breathing device," he said in the same calm voice, "you'll need it in a bit."

He pressed a button on the wriststrap, again moving quicker than possible, and by the time his clear voice rang out "And happy birthday!" he was already gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer than the others, and maybe I cut it a bit short of showing the aftermath, but I wanted to end it there. Thank you so much for reading this! Say hi on tumblr, leave a comment, and most importantly - happy birthday, Ianto!

**Author's Note:**

> In honor of Ianto's 37th birthday... everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. Except maybe Ianto in the beginning of this chapter. Ahem.
> 
> A 5+1 birthday story for Ianto, which I decided to do in separate chapters rather than a full story because I didn't have time to write it earlier but wanted to post it on time. A chapter a day for the next five days, so stay tuned, thank you so much for leaving, and leave a comment if you want to! :D


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